


Show Me Your Bones

by Slashy Goodness (allmadhere)



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-27
Updated: 2010-03-27
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:45:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmadhere/pseuds/Slashy%20Goodness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He felt his cheeks color as the guy slides into the booth with infinite grace. No one, no one, should ever be capable of making something like sitting in an underlit booth with potentially sticky seats and definitely sticky tabletop look like some sort of visual euphemism for the best and kinkiest sex Pete will ever have. He gulps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Show Me Your Bones

**Author's Note:**

> am the slowest writer EVER. Done for anon_lovefest on LJ because I honestly can't ignore a good vampire prompt, especially when it flips the vampiric standards in this pairing. Title is an album by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, cut is from the song "Modern Romance" by the same band. Patrick ended up a slightly faily vampire. Pete is maybe really oblivious. No beta, this is some straight gangsta-shit.
> 
> Prompt: Vampire!Patrick/victim!Pete. Bonus points if Patrick's a smirking, blood-in-a-wineglass Anne Rice type of vampire, no fucking glittery skin.

Mardi Gras. New Orleans. Gabe and William and Diaz with him, drunk as hell and living it up before a religious tradition none of them intended to heed. Pete should be happy, should be five too many past his limit to care about anything, right? But no. Instead he's sulking in a dark corner of a dive bar, left behind in their reverie, completely sober, and waving away anyone who approached.

He huffs out a breath and mutters to himself, "I guess this might not have been the best way to get over a breakup. 'Come with us,' Diaz said. 'You'll forget her in no time,' William said. And Gabe..." Pete rubs at his face, sighing.

"Come on, I want to know what this Gabe said," comes a smooth voice from behind him. Pete jumps and looks back. The guy is... indescribable. That never happens. Pete has words for everything, it's what he does. Sure, he could rattle off the physical: the strawberry blond hair peeking out from underneath the dark grey hat, the round and innocent face, the too-bright blue-green-true-hazel eyes and the glasses that framed them so perfectly, the full pink lips that Pete wants to nip and lick his way inside of that curl into a closed smirk, the almost too pale skin, the argyle print tee he somehow manages to make look undeniably sexy... But that doesn't even come close to telling half the story, doesn't get to his ethereal core, didn't explain how this guy is attractive in ways that only celebrities and porn stars seem to be. Pete feels something stir low in his stomach and can only gape like a fish.

"Uhhh. Errrr. Huhn." Way to be smooth, Wentz. He felt his cheeks color as the guy slides into the booth with infinite grace. No one, no one, should ever be capable of making something like sitting in an underlit booth with potentially sticky seats and definitely sticky tabletop look like some sort of visual euphemism for the best and kinkiest sex Pete will ever have. He gulps.

The guy smirks in that closed-lipped way of his. "You do have a way with words, don't you?" Pete just groans and buries his face in his hands. "Hey," the voice is softer now, like slightly warmed honey, sweet and just a little hot, flowing past his ears and heading straight for his cock. "I didn't mean to offend you or anything. I'm actually pretty terrible with words." Pete just cocks an eyebrow at him because, really, everything this guy is saying sounded like perfect with a side of infinitely sexy. "You don't believe me, do you?"

"No," Pete replies and since when is his voice this breathy? "If that were true, I wouldn't--." Well, Wentz, he thinks to himself, you wouldn't what? Be fighting down an erection? Be stumbling over your words? Be incapable of actual conversation? What?

The guy smirks at Pete, like he can hear what he's thinking. Maybe Pete's thinking loud enough for it to be possible. Stranger things have happened before. "So, where are your friends? You can't possibly be here alone on a night like this? You're far too pretty for that." Pete snorts in contempt. 'Pretty' led him into every relationship thus far, all of which had ended in a blaze of overdramatic disaster. Pete thinks back on the latest and shudders.

"I'm guessing they're either four bars away or trying to convince someone that going back to their place is a wonderful idea." Pete huffs and rolls his eyes. More likely than not, William and Gabe have both convinced some number of female roommates (or better yet, siblings) to take them home and have ended up making out with each other on the way. Diaz is probably in the middle of his smooth talking spiel that only sometimes works.

"And what about you? Looking for someone you can leave utterly debauched at the end of your holiday?" The guy smirks at him, nary a crinkle of skin daring to show on his face. Pete almost can't believe the words coming out of his cherubic mouth but hey, if he's offering...

"Maybe if it's you?" And fuck, he really didn't want that to be a question but it doesn't seem to be capable of coming out any other way and this guy doesn't seem to mind. He's smirking again.

"Not even going to ask my name?" Pete's a little taken aback. This guy is probably a local and he's a tourist. Names are never involved in movies like these, unless it's a romcom and just... no. The guy smiles and it's like the sun or moon shooting a beam of pure light directly into Pete's eyes, a gift from God. "I might want to keep you around a little longer than you think." And, really, what the fuck do you say to that?

Pete makes a little squeaking noise in the back of his throat.

"I'm Patrick, thanks for asking," he continues smoothly. "I haven't been back in the city too terribly long. I travel quite a lot."

"Why?" Pete blurts out without thinking and he wants to tape his mouth shut, if only to make sure that stupid things like this don't keep slipping out from between his lips. "Oh, fuck, I'm sorry. Don't even bother answering that, okay? I-- fuck." Pete slides a hand through his hair and take a shuddering breath. "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Patrick says, waving a porcelain hand in dismissal. "I write for travel and art magazines, so I visit a lot of museums all over the world. I always come back to Louisiana though." His voice and eyes grow distant and hazy and it's all Pete can do to keep from removing that hat and running a hand through that hair. He wants so badly to be the reason for those beautiful bedroom eyes. Patrick shakes his head and gives a quick flash of a true smile. "So, where are you from, my dear tourist, and what, aside from our little party, brings you to New Orleans?"

"Oh, I'm from Chicago," Pete shrugs, not really knowing what else to say. "I, uhhh, I just broke up with my fiancé. Well, she wasn't yet but..." Pete trails off and shakes his head, looking down at the mostly transparent rings dotting the table between them. "I don't know why I'm telling you any of this. I came here to forget, to lose myself in the madness for a little while." Pete looks up wryly at Patrick. "Don't suppose you could help with that, could you?"

Patrick studies him for a very long moment, eyes narrowing behind his glasses, before he nods once to himself and offers Pete a hand. "Come with me. I am taking you out of all this." He sounded strange right then, like his voice was resonating somewhere other than just his chest.

Pete doesn't question, is far too tired to question. He simply takes the offered hand and follows Patrick into the wild and tumbling madness of the streets. Around them though is a small bubble of space that Pete is glad for; he remembers how almost claustrophobic the walk from their hotel to the first club had been and it had only gotten worse with each nightspot.

"Where are we going?" Pete asks quietly, not expecting Patrick to hear him and half-hoping he doesn't. He feels like a child again for some reason, especially when Patrick's only answer is an amused 'you'll see soon enough'. They weave through the tangled streets, the raucous sounds of drunken merry-making fading with the distance. The side street they end up on is sparsely lit and quiet, perfect for when Patrick sighs and wraps his arms around Pete's slightly taller frame.

"I've got a place maybe a block away," Patrick mutters against Pete's neck, dropping impossibly cool kisses against his skin. Pete might ask why his lips are so cold in the swampy weather but he's distracted by the butterfly touches of his fingers traipsing up his sides. Pete shudders his way through a slow sigh, eyes slipping closed and body leaning into the touches. "We can go there now, if you would like."

"I'd love to, Patrick," Pete murmurs with a kiss on Patrick's jaw, shivering with something hovering between delight and disgust. Their short walk is peppered with brief touches, tiny smiles, and split-second kisses.

Patrick's house turns out to be an old townhouse with a wrought iron gate, all of it slowly choked by some kind of ivy. Creepy and quaint all at once. The gate creaks in protest to their entry, a few leaves falling from their vines. Patrick fumbles slightly at the lock, much of the grace he showed at the club seeming to have evaporated into the heavy air. Pete wraps one arm around Patrick's waist and the other reaches out to steady Patrick's hand and they open the lock together.

As soon as the door is open and they're both in, Pete pins Patrick against the door. Patrick manages to let out a huff of surprise before Pete's swallowing any noises he makes like the finest wine or water after a drought. They stay that way for a few minutes, silent save for tiny gasps and moans and grunts, before Patrick pushes Pete away and breaks the suction hold on his now exposed collar. Pete's surprised; for such an adorable little dude, he's stronger than he looks.

"Fuck, Pete, not here, okay?" Patrick murmurs, running cool fingers running from chin to jaw to throat. Pete's brain scatters at the touch and the forming question of when he'd mentioned his name is gone with it. "It's disgusting down here. We're going to my room. At least I've cleaned in there." He leads them up the creaking wood stairs and into the only room not shrouded in white cloth and a layer of dust. It's surprisingly bright and cheerful and Patrick shines within it like a jewel as he settles on the impeccably made bed.

Pete's mind, however, has the chance to clear on the way and he stops in the doorway, scrutinizing Patrick. He searches for the words to phrase things he really only has mental images for: the cool and dry touches, Patrick's lips forming his name, the looks from the bar, that bubble of peace that had surrounded them on the way here. "None of this makes any sense," he says quietly and the look on Patrick's face blatantly telegraphs that he knows exactly what Pete's talking about. "Who are you, really?"

Patrick looks at Pete, hard and scouring for an answer to a question Patrick didn't want to ask and maybe he doesn't have the answers for it. Pete stands his ground, mouth and jaw set as the only thing he can think of in answer. Patrick just sighs and shakes his head.

"No," he says simply, like that answers Pete's question. "You just... no. I'll walk you back to your hotel and you're going to forget any of this ever happened." Patrick settles his hat on his head in an authoritative way and that's the final straw for Pete. He always did have a problem with authority.

"Fuck that," Pete spits, glaring now. "I don't normally do this for every guy I meet in a bar. Hell, I hardly ever hook up with guys!" There are definitely about six that don't count at all and three others are highly questionable. Patrick gives him a withering look, like he know he's lying through his teeth. "Look, that's besides the point, okay? You're different. I don't just mean--" He waves a hand to encompass all all the things about Patrick he couldn't explain with words and Patrick rolls his eyes and motions for him to continue. "I don't do this with everyone, fall in love at first sight." Pete sighs and hangs his head but he catches Patrick perk slightly in mild interest. "Love isn't real half the time anyway. Ask my last girlfriend. But you..." He looks Patrick dead in the eyes. "You make me burn and wonder if it's really all that bad to be left as nothing but ashes. So give me a chance, will you?"

Patrick only stares at him in response. Pete sighs and turns to leave when he hears a quiet mumble. "You're never going to believe me until I show you. Just... just don't run away, okay? If you really want to know everything, you're going to have to promise me you won't leave when things get... weird."

Pete gives a loud, braying laugh. "You're going to have to do a hell of a lot to put me off, Patrick." He crosses the room and kneels in front of Patrick, hands resting on his thighs. "Don't worry, you can't get rid of me so easily, 'Tricky."

Patrick is silent for another long moment. "Don't call me 'Tricky again." Pete just beams. That means there will definitely be a next time and that's all he really needs. "Come here then," Patrick's voice slips into this slightly deep and completely irresistible range that makes Pete shiver. So long as he uses that voice, Pete thinks, I'll do anything he asks.

Patrick runs his cold fingers up Pete arms to cup his face and gently pull him close with that uncanny strength of his. "Just relax for me, Pete," he whispers as he places a chaste, clammy kiss on his lips. Pete instinctively tenses. "No, Pete, listen to me." Patrick places a very distracting kiss at the corner of Pete's mouth. "You have to relax for me. This might hurt if you don't."

Pete gives a hoarse chuckle in disbelief. "No need to be gentle, 'Trick." Patrick trails kisses from the corner of his mouth to just below his ear and bites at the sensitive flesh. "Shit," he hisses, "'M not a virgin or something. Just get some lube and we're good to go." Patrick chuckles into his skin, making goosebumps rise all over his body in response.

"Don't worry," Patrick mumbles, "I'll make sure I'm just the right amount of careful for you when the time comes." Pete can't help but shiver again in heated anticipation. Patrick works his way down to the crook of Pete's neck with more kisses, licks, and bites.

"Fucking hell, 'Trick," he mutters, boneless in Patrick's arms, "don't be such a fucking tease. Just..." He can't finish the statement and merely moans into Patrick's hair as he shifts closer, straight into Patrick's lap. Patrick growls into his neck at the contact and Pete sighs in content. Sex with Patrick is going to blow his fucking mind, he just knows it.

Then Patrick bites down hard and Pete cries out, very nearly coming in his pants. It is an unexpected move for some reason. Patrick isn't pulling away though. In fact, he pulls Pete closer and Pete has to tilt his head more to the side with a gasp as the dull throb shifts into four blazing points of... something. Not exactly pain, except in a way similar to a cock sliding into him without quite enough preparation. It skims a line between pleasure and pain, overbalancing in favor of pain more often than not. Pete fucking loves that feeling. He clutches Patrick's head tight to his neck with a keening whimper and Patrick gives a rumbling growl in response. Pete feels it everywhere, around him, beneath him, in him.

Understandably, it takes Pete a while to realize that Patrick isn't just sucking at his neck, he's sucking from it. Pete groans and bites at his swollen lip. If nothing else, it explains quite a lot. They rut against each other as Patrick gently drinks, his fingers meandering until they make their way down Pete's chest and into his ridiculously tight jeans. After some minor fumbling with the zipper, Pete shivers and groans, coming the second Patrick gets a good grip on his cock. Patrick makes a high pitched noise, mouth muffled by his hold on Pete's neck, but Pete can't quite bring himself to care about it. He has that lovely floating feeling you get after a particularly satisfying and intense orgasm. The world can end now and he won't care.

When he comes back to himself, Patrick is licking at the wound on his neck and still holding him close. Their body temperatures are a little closer now, thanks to the... Exchange? Sex? Sex. Thanks to the sex they'd just had. Pete hums appreciatively, snuggling closer. He could get used to this, to waking up next to Patrick in the morn- evening. Just as he's getting comfortable, Patrick shifts under him.

"Pete," he whispers, voice just a little wrecked, and Pete seriously considers the pros and cons of locking himself away with Patrick forever. "Pete, I really think we need to talk about this thing, whatever it is between us."

Pete freezes. See, that's exactly how his breakups tend to start, the last one included. This really just isn't fair, that he can meet someone so seemingly perfect only to go through all the major motions of a Wentz-style relationship in a single night. He blames the shaking on the loss of blood but that doesn't account for the way he clings to Patrick. "No, no, no," he mutters, fingers curling and scratching at Patrick's skin through his shirt, "not already, 'Trick."

"What?" he murmurs in reply, still not fully coherent again. Patrick runs his fingertips over Pete's cheek and drags them down to hold his clenched jaw. "What are you talking about?"

"You can't leave me when I just found you," Pete murmurs. He curls into Patrick's barely warm chest. "Everyone leaves me eventually and it always starts with 'I think we need to talk'." Pete tries to bury himself in Patrick's essence. "You're leaving me and it's only been one night."

"Trust me when I say I'm not leaving you." Patrick holds him, maybe just a touch too tightly, but Pete revels in how real and solid it feels, as if it's backing up everything Patrick tells him. "It's just that, fuck, Pete, you're a tourist from Chicago and I'm a... a..." Patrick flails a little, helpless to find something to call himself.

"A vampire?" Pete provides helpfully. "At least you don't sparkle in the sunlight, right?" He nuzzles at Patrick's warm-ish chest, content again and smiling slightly. "It would suck if you sparkled."

"I don't even know what you're talking about." Patrick cards his fingers through Pete's hair as he talks. "We don't really have a name for ourselves but people tend to go with vampire. It's hard to explain properly and it would take me far too long but we're just so different, Pete." He sighed and held Pete close to his unbeating heart. "You're different and I don't want to lose you."

Pete rolls his eyes and smirks. "Then don't. I'll move here from Chicago and we can stay together and have copious amounts of sex. No big deal, right?" Patrick stares at him in disbelief. "Dude, I run a fairly success fashion label. I'll just need to fly places sometimes and be social when Fashion Week and shit rolls around." Now Patrick just looks incredulous. "What?"

"Pete, why would anyone ever want to dress like you?" Patrick grins lopsidedly and easily dodges Pete's swat. "But seriously, would you drop everything to be with me? Give up all you've ever known for something that might not last with, well, me?"

"Of course," Pete answers easily. "You and me, we're meant for each other from one end of the spectrum to the other, micro to macro. We fit together the way puzzle pieces do. We're like a romcom without the shitty plot. Well, maybe with the shitty plot." He beams at Patrick, who smiles softly in return. "I think I need to go back at the end of my trip though," he states with a frown, looking away then turning back with smile returned, "but it would only be long enough to pack all my shit and move here with you."

Patrick nods in agreement. "That should give me enough time to wake Gerard and clean this place up." Pete nods agreeably himself before he processes the whole statement.

"Wait, wait, wait, what? Who's Gerard? Old flame?" Pete's eyebrows furrow in consternation as he pulls away to look Patrick in the eye. "Dude, I really don't share too well. If this is a poly thing, it probably won't end well."

Patrick stares back in utter confusion. "Gerard is my roommate. He's been sleeping for a decade or so. He said something about horrible pop music? Whatever, his brother asked me to look over him some time in the 50s and we've been together since." Patrick pauses. "He's going to want coffee when he wakes up, probably."

"Mmmm, a man after my own heart." Pete snuggles close again and Patrick holds him there, fingers rubbing soft circles in his back. "Hey, Patrick? Can we, you know, fuck? I kind of maybe really fucking want that. Oh, and for you to bite me again. During sex, please?"

"I thought you'd never ask."


End file.
